


Pain

by GuardianQwerty



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Gen, Hurt House, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Platonic Relationships, Rape, Revenge, Torture, hilson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2018-09-18 07:00:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9373253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuardianQwerty/pseuds/GuardianQwerty
Summary: THIS SERIES HAS BEEN PUT ON HOLD - I DO AIM ON FINISHING IT. I'M CURRENTLY RAN DOWN WITH OTHER THINGS HOWEVER. STAY TUNED EVERYONE!Pain, he had lived with it for many years now, it wasn’t new to him, he was always in pain.But this, this was new one he had never quite felt the excruciating agony that was engulfing his body, and his mind. He wasn’t ready, to hell with that when was anyone ready for this.





	1. Crimson

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first House MD fanfic, so excuse while it takes a while to get the correct writing style. 
> 
> This piece is rather violent, if you don't like it don't read it.
> 
> This may go on for a while not sure how long I want write this for but we will see how it goes
> 
> Any feedback would be recommended and thanks for reading.

Pain, he had lived with it for many years now, it wasn’t new to him, he was always in pain. 

But this, this was new, he had never quite felt the excruciating agony that was engulfing his body and his mind. He wasn’t ready, to hell with that when was anyone ready for this. 

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House made his way down to the car park. It had been one of those days where his leg was more trouble than it was worth, Wilson had reacted badly to a prank and his patient didn’t agree to treatment, she said she “wanted to die in peace and when God willed it to”. Why people were so hell-bent about staying true to God’s wishes and making him happy he didn’t understand at all. Really, God was a figment of imagination that was created by an old book that had sources similar to Wikipedia. It was like writing a book on brain surgery and talking about orthopaedics. 

He had finished with telling her she was an idiot and calling a psych consult before leaving. Limping out of the elevator on the ground floor of a carpark he approached his bike, lifting his helmet off the handle bars and fiddling with the buckles. He could hear footsteps but didn’t bother looking up. 

“Miss Me?” a deep throaty voice called out in his direction. House still looking at his helmet replied,  
“I don’t miss people, people don’t miss me it’s the general order of thin-“House had looked up just in time to catch the right hook that was hurdling towards him. The collision of fist with face knocked him onto his back and he could distinctly taste blood in his mouth. He tried to reach out for his cane as he looked up at his attacker, and recognised the man as someone he knew. Before he could figure out who he was hit by his own cane to the right temple, knocking him out cold. 

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When he woke up he was in a dark room, he assumed that it was a basement by the distinct musky cool smell and fact that a stack of wine was in the back corner, not to mention the stairs that led to a door which was painted it what seemed a very ugly shade of crimson. House attempted to sit up but struggled to, by the fact that his hands were chained to the wall. Twisting and fidgeting, he somehow managed to get his hands in front and sit himself against the back wall. He could feel the banging of his temple, the dried blood around his mouth and the pain echoing from his leg. He went to rub his leg only to realise that he was completely naked, apart from a set of rather disgusting looking socks that were definitely not his. House almost immediately felt cold, shivering from the lack of clothing and feeling of exposure. 

At that moment the crimson door opened and the lights came on. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying hard to adjust to the lights so he could see who it was. But he couldn’t see anything when he opened them back up except a rather short man, lacking muscle and supporting a pot belly wearing a crimson balaclava.  
“Sleep well?” The man asked, to which House ignored.  
“When I ask a question I expect an answer?” His voice had suddenly changed from calm to anger which was swelling to be popped.  
“It wasn’t bad, probably give a 2 star review, bed wasn’t soft and I think the lack of blankets really pulled it down.” He looked the man right in the eyes, trying hard to recognise the voice or the body language as someone he knew.  
“Smart man, with a smart ass mouth. Maybe you should quit before I accidentally nick you with this knife.” The man said pulling a long blade out from behind his back, branded with a name inscribed in crimson. House wasn’t threatened by a man who had an obsession with a colour and people had threatened him before so it wasn’t new. Anyway he had been shot before what was the difference.  
“No I think, I’ll just take my leave, if I leave now I might make it a 3 star review for efficiency in getting guests out the door.” House was pushing, but that’s what he did best. The man came down the stairs, squatted down and pushed the blade into the skin of his bare chest, before making a slice across the middle. House winced feeling a sudden pain to add on top of all the others.  
“I told you to shut up.” The man turned around and placed the knife on a nearby table, where house had just noticed were a varying degree of painful objects including his own cane.  
“Now you get to call me ‘D’, and your stay will be extended for the week, if you behave you may live and be released. If you don’t then well we will see what happens. I thought that we could start with some basics. I ask you to do something, you do it, straight away, no anything, if you don’t you get punished. Understood?” The voice was strong still throaty and direct. House now felt threatened but wanted to push more.  
“Does that include things that are stupid, like the colour of your balaclava?” It wasn’t long before he was given a 2nd slice to his chest and a kick to the leg.  
“Understood? I’d recommend you say yes or the next cut is going to your leg.  
“No, I don’t listen to pot bellied old men who think they are above everyone else.” That had done it.  
“YOU INSOLENT SON OF A WHORE, I’M YOUNGER THAN YOU AND IT’S YOUR FAULT YOU ARE HERE!!” D leaned down and made a long slice down his thigh accompanied by another kick to the groin.  
“You will do as I say or you will never leave here.” His voice had returned to calm and was death staring House as he returned a nod. 

D untied Houses chain before dragging him to a table, that had a weird ‘V’ shaped cut out at the end of it and a face hole like a massage table.  
“Lie down; face down, legs spread and arms above your head.” House did as he was told, he was stuck in an air of wanting to push him further and actually feeling scared. The table was raw and felt warmer than his surroundings. He was bolted in, legs attached to cuffs that were drilled to the table and hands chained above his head. He heard rattling and before he could deduce what was happening a gag was placed in his mouth and a crimson blind fold around his eyes.  
“Why do you love crimson so much?” House couldn’t help it, he tried to shut himself up but he couldn’t stop himself.  
“Because crimson is the colour of blood. Time to have some fun,” came the same throaty voice, that sounded too happy, almost creepy, and it wasn’t long before he knew what he meant and why there was a ‘V’ shape cut out on the table. 

He squeezed his eyes shut as the pain started; a tearing sensation was filling his body. He had never felt pain like this before; he had never done this sort of thing. The tearing sensation was coming from his ass, as the tearing continued he could feel a long rod being shoved into his depths, with long thrusts that felt at least 11 inches long, delving deeper each time. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t do anything because all he felt was pain and it continued for a long time, or for what felt like forever. It wouldn’t stop and when it did he just felt numb while being dragged back to the wall he started on. The blind fold and gag was removed, and a blanket thrown at him.  
“Here have your 3 star blanket.” He looked up, D looked happy and smug. He picked up a long wooden object that was now covered in blood and gave him a few more beatings before dropping it on Houses bad leg. It was his own cane, he had been raped by his very own cane.  
“Crimson, isn’t it beautiful.”


	2. Code Magenta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson discovers House's bike in the carpark. What will he think?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Wilson's POV and focuses on the discovery of House's bike. 
> 
> The idea of this is to keep flipping through the POVs each chapter so 3 will be Houses and so on. 
> 
> I hope you are enjoying it and I am relatively new to this so sorry if you find mistakes, I'm still trying to get into the characters heads. 
> 
> Don't forget to leave feedback to improve the story or let me know anything you think about it!
> 
> Hope You Enjoy!!!

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The day had been brutal, mostly because House had made it that way. He was supposed to have lunch with Sam, in fact he had promised. However, he got a call about one of his patients’ saying their latest test results said she had stage 4 Hodgkin's Lymphoma in the lungs and liver and had to go deliver the news to her. After telling her he got another call from pathology saying the same test results were normal and she didn’t in fact have cancer at all and that the tumours were benign. Only after a confusing conversation and his patient leaving in complete disarray of emotions, did an evil head pop over the wall balcony between his office and House’s. The row was spectacularly awful, with him telling House to go get fucked and never to mess with his patients again, knowing all too well that he probably had already planned to swap test results or shred important forms for treatment. He had given House a shove, which result in him falling back onto the balcony, before Wilson locked the door and closed the blinds. 

He was furious and after calling Sam and promising dinner he left his office to go down to the carpark for the night. He passed Cuddy in the hallway where she told him to go find House and give him some contract renewal paper work that he had dated incorrectly, for him to respond saying he had already gone home earlier after their argument. She still shoved the forms in his hand clearly annoyed at the fact that he never had bothered to fill in the correct dates the first time. He would drop the forms off on his way home. 

As the elevator doors opened to the carpark floor Wilson walked out, his brown leather briefcase in his left hand while he dug around in his pocket for his keys. As he walked he looked around taking note of his surroundings, before stopping suddenly. His eyes had wondered to Houses bike which was still there. He approached it looking around for signs of booby-traps and watching for House to jump out and scare the crap out of him. But there was no House, no sign of why the bike was still here. He rounded the other side tracing his fingers over the seat and noticing the keys in the ignition. It was odd if House had been called back for a patient he would have grab his keys not just leave them for the bike to be stolen. It was at this moment that he nearly fell and looking down to see what he had tripped on he saw three things, a black helmet lolling around on the concrete, a blue bag, and a two distinct splatters of blood, that were smeared on the floor and left a trail of what looked like a body being dragged across the ground. Wilson stumbled back leaning towards a nearby poll to support himself as he slide to the ground in realisation. House had not gone home and had not stayed to treat a patient; he had been kidnapped, and probably beaten. 

“Don’t panic, let’s just call him and see if he picks up, see if it is a misunderstanding.” Wilson said to himself, prying out his phone and dialling House’s mobile. It rang, and rang and then he heard his voice.  
“Hi it’s Hou-“.  
“House are you okay” Where are you?” Wilson spoke quickly into the phone, as House continued to speak.  
“I can’t answer the phone at the moment, probably cos A) I don’t like you, B) I’m getting laid or C) you bore me. Leave a message if you want, won’t read it but you can try.” A long beep followed, he had reached his voicemail.  
“Hey House, can you give me a call back it’s urgent, even if you are playing a stupid game on me, I’m worried about you, and I need to give these contract renewal forms to you, you screwed the dates up, thanks, bye and I’m sorry.” Wilson finished awkwardly, thinking hard as he closed his phone. He had two options, ignore it as a practical joke or call Cuddy and the police. The blood looked real and now he looked properly was also smeared on the bikes surface, House wouldn’t put fake blood on his bike, and he knows the chemical properties could destroy the paint work. In that moment he made his decision. He would call the police, this wasn’t right. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was about thirty minutes until a police car pulled into the carpark. When he called he explained everything in detail, trying to make sure they came as soon as possible, and he paged Cuddy when they arrived. A burly looking officer had been questioning him as his partner circled the scene with a camera and radioed one of the local detectives, when Cuddy had paced out of the elevator into the cool air that surrounded the carpark. Wilson looked up and saw her face she was cold looking, almost professional, but something was hidden something House would of recognised, but he had no idea.  
“James what is going on?” Cuddy called entering the conversation between officer and witness.  
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask to the go over there until I’ve finished.” The officer was stern, but in a caring type of way that almost sounded genuine.  
“Oh, sorry, I’m the Dean of Medicine at this hospital and the person in question is one of my Doctors, actually probably one of the best.” Cuddy looked taken a back, usually she was the one that told people when and where to be, but this was an entirely different situation. The officer softened his face.  
“Ma’am, I appreciate that you have come down here, but I still need you to step to the side until I have finished my questions. These types of situations are precarious.” Lisa didn’t know what was going on. Wilson had sent her a code magenta, which was a code only used between Houses team, Wilson and Cuddy when talking about House in serious times. And after Wilson told her he already left she was clearly looking surprised to be in her hospitals basement with House’s bike, a police car and himself being questioned by a local cop. Wilson watched her as she started pacing further away, arms crossed, right hand rubbing the back of her neck while looking down in thought.  
“So he didn’t say anything about any threats or possible issues he was having?” The officer continued, getting back to the questions.  
“Okay, what you need to understand is House is a damn good doctor and diagnostician, however the way he went about it tend to rub people the wrong way. He’s an ass, but a good one so yeah he has had threats, has he shared them with me? No. But you can bet he has had some, he doesn’t have many friends.” Wilson was starting to feel exasperated, his best friend was missing the last thing he told him to do was to go get fucked and Cuddy’s pacing was making him sweat anxiety ridden bullets.  
“Are we done?” He looked back at the officer who nodded, while pulling a phone out of his pocket.

Wilson shuffled over to Cuddy stopping in front of her pacing and making her walk right into him.  
“Sorry, James what is going on? Code Magenta! What did House do?” Her voice was desperate and she needed fast answers.  
“I don’t know. All I know is that he left hours ago, and when I came down here I saw his bike, helmet and bag on the ground and splatters of blood smeared on the ground and on his bike. I called but just reached his message bank. I think he was kidnapped and possibly beaten.” Wilson spoke swiftly with an echo of worry coming out with each word. He was scared and didn’t know what to do.  
“Doctors, can you please come here we need to discuss some things.” The same officer had called towards them demonstrating a come here motion with his hand. Cuddy and Wilson strolled forwards stopping themselves in front of the officer.  
“We have a detective, coming down to work with us on this. Their team will take over the investigation into your colleague’s disappearance. The fact that there is what looks like a body mark blood trail, means this is quite serious and will probably be prioritised. I must say now though, I attended a similar case a few months ago, in fact very similar. Disliked Doctor, was kidnapped beaten and raped for five days before being released and found by a security guard in Port Jervis. The man didn’t survive his injuries. This might be a copycat, as the guilty criminal was captured and has twenty-five years in prison. Prepare yourself.” The cop was calm, direct and understanding.  
“I will leave you for now, thank you for your cooperation. We will be in touch, can I ask this scene not to be cleaned up for at least two days and all cars to be removed from the parking garage so we can search thoroughly for clues. Thank you again, keep your mobiles on we will need to be able to contact you.” Wilson gave the officer both Cuddy’s and his own number and made his way to his car.  
“I’m going home; Sam is waiting and let me tell the team tomorrow please?” Wilson turned to Cuddy before opening the driver’s door.  
“Of course, we can talk tomorrow about this in more detail.” Cuddy didn’t linger, she turned on her heels and walked back to the officer, probably to ask questions and implications of the crime, give details on House and discuss future steps of cooperation with the police. 

James sat in his car breathing deeply and thinking without a doubt that House had been kidnapped and it may have been his fault. His eyes felt damp as he turned the key and looked on towards the disaster carpark that had his friend’s motorbike and blood drenched into the floor. It was his fault.


	3. Clues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House's captor is dropping clues unintentionally. Will he figure out who he has pissed off?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was harder to write, these sorts of scenes are difficult to get right but I hope it is okay.
> 
> The idea is to delve more into House's subconscious and understand the pain around it when a brilliant mind is put in this sort of situation.

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House felt dead, his insides felt rotten and his exterior matched these thoughts. He had guessed it was day 3, as his captor had been using words like ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’, as well as always have shorter sessions during the mornings, as if he had a job to go to. He had found little out about D. He had let slip that he had destroyed his life. And he already knew he loved the colour crimson. Though he recognised the eyes he still could not figure out from where. He had been racking his brain, going through all his old cases; but because he rarely saw the patients and their families unless to tell they were idiots, he was really struggling. 

After his first session with D, he had been given so graciously a blanket, a pillow and a longer chain so he could lie down and sleep. It wasn’t much but it made it easier even if he didn’t sleep that much, because of the pure abuse that came at some of the weirdest times. And each day seemed to have a theme; the first day was plain humiliation using his own cane against him. Day two had been more torture orientated with multiple sessions of hot wax being poured on his chest, pegs placed in inappropriate spots and painful areas, whipping, strangulation, forcing his head into a bucket of his own piss and so on. Today had been more mellowed, as if he was tired but he concentrated in being silent and abusing in a more subtle way and completely unexpected in most cases. 

Houses head had been pounding for hours, he probably got a concussion from when he was originally hit in the head with his own cane, but it had been worsened by lack of sleep, proper meals and water. He had spent the last hour rubbing his leg; he had been clean since Mayfield. At this moment though if he had a bottle of Vicodin, he would rather knock it back and ease off into deaths jaws than stay here, clean and in pain. There was a click, the door above had opened up and D wondered in.  
“Evening slave, ready for tonight’s session?” D glowered down at House. House was never ready, but he couldn’t say no or he would get slashed for it by the crimson blade.  
“Yes master, but-” House decided to push he wanted to know something.  
“But what slave?” D had approached House and had sat bare ass on House, straddling him while letting his own ass eclipse Houses member.  
“Bu- I was just wondering why? I know I’m an ass but what exactly did I do?” House was curious and extremely apprehensive of this answer.  
“You will find out on our last day, but all you need to know now is that you ruined my only chance at a proper life.” D had been running his hands up and down his chest, before leaning closer and kissing House on the lips. House didn’t stop him, but he didn’t encourage it either. He let his mouth be molested by his captors and listened as D rode his shaft while groaning.  
“So I stole your only reason for love, so you’re trying to destroy mine by traumatising me too much for a future relationship? Yes cos that makes absolute sense.” House said as he pushed his assailant away with his head. He had given up and reverted back to himself, he couldn’t rationalise any of it, even with some of his worst cases. He wanted to push, maybe than it would be over, even if there was an expiration date on this.  
D didn’t stop, he didn’t flinch. He just continued what he was doing, basically ignoring it. House thought that’s what tonight session was about silent abuse, ignoring him at all cost. The hopeful thought lasted about 30 seconds when he felt a sharp slicing sensation around his back. D had wrapped his hands around House’s dirtied back and had started drawing long lines on his back. Not deep, shallow long paper like cuts. And it hurt, a lot. Probably because of the fact that there was less blood meaning his pain receptors were left open to the air, ensuring continued pain. 

The pain continued, every time he opened his mouth, questioned what D was doing or even grunted in pain an additional slice was added. By the end of it he felt like someone had imprinted a grill into his back or he had gills. When D had stood up, he walked to the corner of the basement and picked something up. Turning around on the ball of his foot and coming back towards House he stood in the dim light before throwing the item at him. The small object twisted and turned in the air before landing softly in the blanket to his right.  
“May ease the pain,” he chuckled under his breath before turning to leave. House stared down and was more surprised than ever to see an amber bottle of familiar white pills. It was Vicodin. House took up the small bottle in his cuffed hands before turning it over, it was an old bottle dated for September 2008, three months before he was admitted into Mayfield. He remembered losing a couple of the bottles around that time and having to get a new prescription from Wilson. He thought he had misplaced them, apparently not. But this was a massive clue because it narrowed the cases down. His previous thoughts came tumbling back, all he could think was the pain could be over, even with a couple or completely over with the whole bottle. His head hurt, his back hurt, his leg and basically everything else. He was in constant pain and now he couldn’t even sleep on his back or his chest for fear of infecting the cuts from the grungy floor. However, through all the pain there was a niggling feeling. It had been nearly a year, nearly a whole year since he had detoxed. A massive stepping stone, he couldn’t go back now, not even with the pain and humiliation. He needed it, but he didn’t want it. And without thinking further he used all his strength and threw it at D. The bottle hit his right eye, and bounced off onto the ground where it spilt open. There was a slight reddening coming from the eye. The plastic bottle had somehow managed to make a small scratch under the eyebrow where it now bled a small amount.  
“Clearly you aren’t in pain, hey? Tomorrow will be fun. Don’t stay up too late thinking about me.” The smug look D gave House as he turned the lights off drilled into his head. 

He felt hot, hot with anxiety and tension. He was not keen for tomorrow, after today’s silent beating. He felt challenged, he felt like someone was trying to beat him at his own game. But what he felt even more over everything was guilt. He felt guilty because this was his fault, he was here because he screwed up and now he was paying the price. The strange thing though is that he knew it wasn’t his fault, anyone being deluded into thinking that their actions were justified because of another human beings stuff up was why war was so prominent, was why car crashes happened, was why rape, abuse, bullying and everything in between seemed okay in their minds. But he still felt guilty and almost deserving of this treatment. 

House rolled onto his side adjusting the pillow with his hand and hugging the blanket close to his body.  
“Just two more days, two more days and then we are done,” he mouthed to himself breathing heavily from the pain and completely overwhelmed with guilt. It was almost over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and any feedback is appreciated. I'm new to this genre.


	4. Copy-Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson finally meets up with the Detective. What will they have to say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I've been unwell with Vertigo so excuse the spelling mistakes, they will slowly be corrected with rereads in the future when I can see straight.
> 
> This is slightly longer and will be split into 2 parts, so this chapter and the next will be from both Wilson's POV.

The cops had been in and out of the hospital over the past two days, combing the car garage for clues, searching Houses office and team room for any sign of something that could give any clues saying where he had been taken, as well as digging up old cases from anywhere between last year to fifteen years ago. His flat had been searched multiple times and Wilson, Cuddy and the rest of the team questioned about everything from their own whereabouts to Houses patients. It was tough and even though the detective in charge was promised to rock up the next day after Wilson discovered House’s bike, he didn’t show up until three days later. 

Wilson had spent the majority of his time with his patients trying the get as much done as possible and distracting himself from all of things that were happening around him. The last thing he wanted on his mind was House, the best friend that he had managed to piss off and in turn lead him to leave early instead of together later on. 

The second ‘code magenta’ page for the week came through early in the morning. He left home early because he couldn’t deal with the constant badgering of Sam asking if he was okay. Of course he isn’t okay, his best friend’s missing and he can’t do anything about it. He entered Cuddy’s office two minutes after the page almost at a run, and panting slightly. Three days ago this page was due, three days when this detective was supposed to turn up and they only turn up now. Seriously how slowly do the wheels turn in the justice department?   
“Three days! Three days for you guys to turn up and start asking and snooping around. He disappeared Thursday night and its Sunday morning! Seriously do you have any idea what is going on or what you are doing?” Wilson yelled in the direction of the only person he didn’t recognise.   
“What is wrong with you people?” Wilson collapsed down into Cuddy’s sofa before loosening his tie.  
“I take it your Doctor Wilson?” The tall person that was facing Cuddy when he had entered had turned around looked down at Wilson as he nodded.   
“Well, I’m Detective Jasmine Harding. I’m current investigator on the case.” Her face was new and almost looked too young to be the head of a team of investigators. He wanted to ask her the capabilities, her credentials to being a Detective but thought against it.   
“And before you ask, I’m thirty-two; I’ve been in the force fourteen years and haven’t yet failed to catch a criminal yet.” It was almost as if she had read his mind.   
“I wasn- I mean that’s not what I was asking about.” Wilson stumbled unable to comprehend his failing brain as she talked.  
“The unfortunate side effect of the human condition is that when we see something we disagree with it is generally written all over our faces. Some people are good at hiding it, you not so much. But fear not you are not the first to ask.” She sounded almost like a female House which was the weirdest experience ever.  
“Yes, House would like her. But can we get back to the topic on hand. ” Cuddy had interjected knowing very well that he was thinking the exact same thing but was half caught between House and this woman’s capabilities to deduce evidence from a situation. Though he did feel better about it.  
“Yes, yes. Let’s take a seat, shall we? This shouldn’t take long; I know you all have things to do.”   
The first thing that was talked about was motives; old cases, bad grudges, basically everything from the past ten years on House and how he had managed to piss off most of the medical patients in New Jersey, but also save them. It then moved on to relationships past ex’s. The most prominent person he could think of was that stalker he had a few years ago, Ali was her name. She stopped seeing him after House diagnosed her with Coccidioides immitis in the brain which caused her to cry milky tears and loose her inhibition and judgement. He still didn’t quite know if this was fake or real but it had worked. She didn’t turn up again. 

The last topic was more detailed; a closer look at the investigation itself.   
“You were told three days ago, by a fellow officer that this case showed similarities to another from a few months back. Basically it looks like a copycat; the case is almost exactly the same, bar a few minor details relating to age and sex. The previous case was an abduction that I also worked on of a twenty-one year old female who was kidnapped on the basis of payback. She had fallen into the wrong crowd and accidently let slip details of the whereabouts of one of the hideouts to a known undercover operative, thinking he was one of the cool guys there. Within two days the place was shut down and she had disappeared. The only reason she didn’t survive is because of an allergic reaction to the antibiotics the doctors gave her which led to an infection she couldn’t fight off.” The coffee table was covered in papers and a lot of the documents looked to have been redacted for the purpose of showing Wilson and Cuddy.   
“The way this defendant went about the crime was through a strict schedule, each day had a purposeful torture, they would keep their face hidden, always gloved and use a voice changer.” She had continued, sternness ricocheting into the atmosphere.   
“When you say schedule, what do you mean?” Cuddy asked, whose body language said ‘I’m a professional’ but her face screamed fear.  
“Each day was mapped out with routines and sessions of a certain type of torture or abuse. For example day one humiliation, day two torture, and day three rape, and so on. It was a brutal type of regiment that meant slip ups weren’t a thing.” Wilson felt nauseated, his stomach was doing somersaults and he felt light headed.   
“So why are you telling us this?” Wilson asked swallowing hard to stop the vomit he knew was coming, he needed some stemzine or something similar to ease his nausea and calm the anxiety.   
“The main reason is that being a copycat means that the captor has similar characteristics to the case his is copying, which we can use to cross check the patients and their families and anyone else Doctor House may have disagreed with, and figure out a short list that corresponds with the characteristics portrayed by the first case.”   
“Many of the Injuries associated with this criminal were towards one object usually as a symbol of control and the only item that wasn’t at the crime scene was Doctor Houses cane.” At that moment Wilson bolted from the room, supressing as much as he could, knocking someone over on his way to the bathroom. When he finally got there he was head first into a toilet bowl spewing his guts out. 

He felt all of his insides flowing out of his mouth and he thought on what had just been said to him. His cane, this animal was using the one thing that kept him going; against him. His disability sticker that basically governed his life; against him. Who does that? How could anyone be that pissed off with House to destroy his confident exterior by using his main support object against him? He heard the bathroom door open and a female voice could be heard over his retching.  
“Are you okay?” It was Cameron, of all people to come and check on him, it was Cameron. Wilson spewed a few more times before wiping his mouth and flushing the toilet. He exited the stall and went straight to the sink staring into the mirror and avoiding Cameron’s eyes.  
“I’m fine.” Wilson responded, feeling everything but that.   
“Sure you’re fine? That sprint from Cuddy’s office to the bathroom that ended with me sprawled on the floor was just you practicing for a new stunt show.” Cameron sarcasm was never that great, but she tried and without even apologising for knocking her over he snapped back at her.  
“Why are you even in here this is the men’s room?” He was angry, and though he only ever managed to snap at House he felt like he was back with Sam having her question his okayness.   
“I’ve been in here enough times when House goes to DDx while taking a leak.” She was calm and strong, sort of like a pole to lean on type of person.  
“I know you’re not fine, you have managed to keep the same best friend for the majority of your life and now he is gone. Plus I’m guessing that detective didn’t have good news either?” Wilson felt dead.  
“It’s a copycat from a few months back; the original crime was based around abuse of using an object of the victim’s that is a great importance to them. The onl-only thing that wasn’t found with hi-his bike was his-his, his c-cane.” Wilson choked out those last words with a mixture of sadness and anger. When he looked at Cameron, she looked shocked but still echoed strength; at least more than he had. He slid down the counter to the hard cold tiles, he felt worse the room was spinning and he couldn’t keep up.   
“Hey Wilso- James it is okay, it will be okay, give it a while and he will be back pinching you food and pranking you.” Her voice was soothing but he just felt hot and angry and couldn’t stay awake. The room faded from his vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger, sorry guys couldn't help it
> 
> Thanks for reading and following this stay tuned for the next chapter which will be out soon! 
> 
> Don't forget to leave Kudos if you liked it and comment down below any feedback!


	5. One Last Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I suck at summaries, I give up ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said this chapter will also be a Wilson POV and quite short. 
> 
> We are starting to delve more into the friendship/relationship between him and House and how it affects him.
> 
> I struggled a bit with tenses so if you notice a mistake please let me know in the comments so I can rectify it.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Wilson woke with a start, he was lying on a couch in what looked like his office, the curtains were pulled and the lights were off. He could feel a cool breeze whisking around the room from the fan in the corner and a light brown blanket covering his body. It took him a few moments to remember the last few hours, his watch read one o’clock; he had been out for three hours. Someone must have sedated him; no way would he be out for that long if he had just passed out. He stared up at the ceiling thinking of the things he had been told, thinking about House. He didn’t want to be alive; he didn’t want to know a world where someone could torture a human being with that amount of violence. Wilson tried to get up twisting his body so he now sat in the middle of the couch. His head pounded and his eyes were grateful for the lack of light in the room.

“You’re awake, and not puking. I have to say that sprint to the bathroom was pretty spectacular, even under the circumstances.” Wilson looked up; sitting at his desk was Detective Harding. What on earth was she still doing here? More questions?   
“Wha-what are you doing here still?” Wilson was feeling drowsy.  
“Well I never got to ask you the final question and it was more directed to you as his best friend than Doctor Cuddy as his boss.” She responded. Wilson was ever so slowly starting to understand that she was a person who needed all the answers then and there not later.  
“Well go ahead, I pretty sure my stomach is empty now.” Wilson said to the side partly relaxed and partly on edge.   
“Okay, are you absolutely sure Doctor House didn’t mention anything unusual before his disappearance? He didn’t say anything to you about a problem he was having?”   
“No he didn’t. The thing about House is he won’t tell anyone anything until he is lying on the floor bleeding and even then he will hide. He isn’t a big talker about his feelings.” Wilson felt useless he couldn’t do a damn thing for his friend because his friend never told him anything.   
“Well thank you for your time, I know this must be a tough time for you but with your cooperation this search is made easier. If you think of anything, give me a call.” She smiled and placed a card on his desk. She opened his door and went to leave, but before she could she turned around.  
“I know we took a long time processing the crime scene, but we are doing all we can, and so are you. Don’t beat yourself up about it. This isn’t your fault; the best thing you can do for Doctor House now is to stay strong. Because when we find him he is going to need a rock. It’s not an easy thing to get over.” Her voice had dropped the professionalism that had been dragged throughout their meeting and sounded warmer and sad almost as if she knew what it was like.   
“Thank you,” Wilson choked out as he watched her close the door.

Wilson lied back down thinking hard and longing for the sleep to take over his thoughts. Even though her words were true, he felt stupid. He had managed to pass out and get sick while House was going through only God knows what. He wasn’t a good friend he had caused it he had been the reason he left early. He was the reason House was missing even if it was someone else deciding who gets to play God. If he had sucked it up like he always does they could have gone back to House’s; drank beer, ate pizza and watched monster trucks. If House didn’t make it through this he would be beating himself up for life. At that moment House felt more than a friend, he felt like his support structure, how was he going to survive the rest of his life without House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, the next one is back to House.
> 
> Any feedback is appreciated! 
> 
> :)


	6. Revenge Is A Dish Best Served Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He finally meets the man behind the mask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait guys, I've had a bunch of work to do lately and I've struggled to put this chapter together with the medical jargon. 
> 
> Hopefully it is okay, It was hard to convey everything in and it is a smaller chapter.

The room remained dark; the lights had not been turned on all day. The remarks that the deep throaty voice of D said, came from all directions at any given time. They were heavy and intense, hurtful and torturous behind belief. At any time all of a sudden there would be yelling in his ears, talking down on him as if he was nothing. And then the quiet voice would return still insulting in every manner possible. He had been told earlier on that this was the last day, that he would be released that night; that he could go back to his life, not that he felt he had one left. Not since today’s session, being by far the worst.   
“You know what I have realised, you may be a tough person on the outside, you may deflect anything worth deflecting but you are still a coward, still not worth anything and even Wilson knows that. That’s why he kicked you out of his office, he’s sick of your inability to be a human. You disgust him; he was never your friend. He only stayed because he pitied you.” The whole day had been snide remarks like this, he knew they weren’t true, but as it went on as they got worse, he started to believe.   
“You’re so pathetic in thinking that you have any friends in that so called team of yours. Taub despises your guts for exposing his affair. Foreman hates the black jokes. Thirteen wishes over and over again that you had Huntington’s instead of her. And Kutner, well that was all your fault, constantly making him feel shit about his life pushing him to the breaking point. That was all your doing.” D had started far away, but now he was sitting on his bad leg.   
“Oh and we can’t forget Amber, that’s the real reason Wilson hates you, you killed his girlfriend, you put her on that bus you’re the reason everyone who gets close to you dies. Amber should have lived not you.” The truth was it was his fault Kutner died, and Amber and his father and everyone else in his life. It was always his fault but the thoughts were pushed away when the pain in his leg reached an all-time max.   
“Cry again, so I can slice deeper.” The fact that D got this much satisfaction from his pain, made it clear that this guy was seriously messed up.   
“You have caused so much pain in so many people’s lives how to you live with yourself. Do you cry yourself to sleep at night? No, that isn’t your way. You would drink bourbon and play piano until you couldn’t feel anything. Yes?” D asked, pushing a sharp object deeper against the skin on his legs. All House could do was answer with a muffled grunt, accompanied by a nod.   
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I watched you that night. I watched you through your window while you got drunk and played ‘You can’t always get what you want’ on the piano. Well as it turns out when you try hard enough and push hard enough you get the revenge that you need, and this week has been exactly what my Sarah needed.” 

The penny dropped, House immediately knew who his captor was, why he was doing it and who he was acting revenge on. House swallowed hard tried to speak.  
“You’re Darren Keyes, you were a cop?” When House looked up he saw that the balaclava had been removed, he recognised the man’s face, piercing violet eyes borrowing into his face more than usual.   
“Yes I’m Darren and I was a cop. When you stole my Sarah, I went off the rails, I couldn’t handle it, and so I started to plot my revenge.” His eyes were filled with fury. This is how he had done it, cop with all the resources in the world to ask questions and not get pulled up on it. This is how he knew about Amber, Kutner, and his team.   
“She died of neurosyphilis that she contracted from being molested and abused as a child. We didn’t find out until it was too late, because she withheld the information about her past from us; meaning we eliminated it within the first few minutes of diagnosing.”  
“She was raped as a child by her father, causing her to die. AND YOU’RE BLAMING IT ON HER!!!” His voice was deeper than usual and threatened.   
“They are important parts that led to the misdiagnosis that killed her. We asked multiple times, about anything like that and both of you deflected. Your combined stubbornness and complete disregard for telling the truth caused her death not mine. By taking the hospital to court you only proved it more. And still you can’t get your head around it. It wasn’t my fault, it was yours.” House was furious, one stupid idiot’s ideas on his partners death was why he had been here for five days. 

The slap came seconds after House had stopped talking, and then another one and then he was being dragged across the floor.   
“You think your smart pushing your guilt onto me, I know you I’ve been watching you for months noticing your every move. Watching you drown yourself in pills until you went to Mayfield. I watched you feel sorry for every patient you fucked up!”   
“Are you mental? I was a drug addict, I was in pain? All I did was pop pills and drink alcohol. Solving some of the hardest cases ever, and your wife’s wasn’t one of them but here we are.” House yelled harshly into Darren’s face.   
“You know what I think we need to finish this off properly. You now know why you are here. It’s time to face up to the music. You may not want to but it’s your fault. Sarah shouldn’t have died.” Darren had tied House back onto the table.   
“It’s time for our last session, are you ready?” Darren’s voice had returned to normal, calm but throaty. It was almost like he had split personalities or something. Darren was twirling around an object.   
“Did you miss this?” And with one big swing, a wooden object that looked identical to his cane smashed into his ribs. He may not be getting out of here today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, don't forget to leave feedback.
> 
> The next chapter will be from House's perspective again. And hopefully out in the next week! 
> 
> Thank you again :)


	7. The Last Session

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will House be able to survive the last session the D has planned for him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, you have all been very patient.
> 
> I'm trying to dial back the graphic violence. Let me know how it goes.
> 
> Hopefully we can get back into it.

House could feel the grass beneath him, the hard cold ground that glistened in the moon light.

**~~Flash~~ **

* * *

 

"You thought you could get away with being an ass to everyone! YOU THINK YOU COULD GET AWAY WITH MURDERING MY SWEET SWEET SARAH???" Darren was now so close to House's face, that he could feel the spit fly out of his mouth and land on his cheek.

**~~Flash~~ **

* * *

 

He had been crawling for what felt like a century, he jeans completely soaked through with blood, dew and sweat. He had tried to keep his sliced chest off the dirt, but it was too hard, so everyone movement hurt five times harder than usual.

  ** ~~Flash~~**

* * *

 

"You will find out later, that the case I copied these ideals from used the victims most important object in their life against them. In your case your cane proves a perfect piece to turn you against." Darren's laugh was deep and annoying, but House had little to focus with the feeling of hurt coming from all directions including inside.

  ** ~~Flash~~**

* * *

 

The ice cold ground was almost a soothing release for all the pain, even with pieces of dirt grinding into each individual cut. House could see some people ahead, but struggled to find his voice as they walked past.  
"hmrphhhh," was all he managed before rolling over to his back. He would possibly bleed out, right there. He had enough cuts, abrasions, internal injuries to do so. And he was running out of fight.

  ** ~~Flash~~**

* * *

 

The session had ended with more thrusts, whacks and stabs so hard that they had nearly left him impaled by his own cane. But nothing prepared him for the final blow. There was a crack, so hard it rippled through his week long basement of hell. Before his cane was stabbed hard into his lower abdomen. He had just been stabbed with the splintered side of his cane and it hurt worse then everything else both physically but also emotionally.

  ** ~~Flash~~**

* * *

 

The reminder that he had an open stab wound convinced him to roll back over to his stomach, to help reduce the bleeding. House lay there head in the dirt, willing, wishing that someone would find him. With all remainder strength he had, he called out, there was nothing planned, but two words came tumbling out, rather loudly as well, before he felt himself drift off into a slumber of knocked out pain.  
"HELP, WILSON!!!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading please leave suggestions, feedback and anything else appropriate to helping me complete this piece.


	8. 3am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alcohol and the most important news on his life, how will Wilson cope?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 is here, and just so you know I was very tempted to leave it a 7 chapters, as a cliff hanger but decided you guys might kill me. So he we have it Wilson you're up!

Wilson had been working all day, all day talking with patients and testing bloods and combing over CT scans. But as he worked there was the deep disturbing feeling, that his best friend was being tortured and possibly killed in some sicko's basement. The same sicko that had managed to copy a serial rapist and torturer. "Sit tight," Detective Harding said, they have their best people on it. Best people, unlikely. How many people would investigate a case into one of the world’s most painful people out there? He wouldn't do it. But none the less he continued his day, worrying, hoping that they would find him, as much as he hates House's guts sometimes, the man made his life worthy to live.

"Thank you Doctor Wilson for the good news, I'll let my husband know that we can finally take that vacation without the fear of me dropping dead." Sophie said. A lung cancer patient who was now feeling a lot better after 6 rounds of chemo, radiation and a surgery to remove the large tumour from her left lung.  
"Take photos Sophie, I want to see you actually enjoying your new lease on life." Wilson added with a smile, she had always sucked at making the most of the time she had left. She had always found an excuse to not go away, but now there was none left. She had been in remission for 8 months now.  
"Yes sir!" She smirked giving him a dodging left-handed salute before walking out.

The last patient of the day always bought a whole new meaning to finish for the day. He was finally finished with dealing with difficult diagnoses, difficult treatments and difficult consultations. But it also meant he had to retreat to his head which was streaming with pain and guilt about House's whereabouts. Pain that was filtered by anger, on top of distress and finally a glint of hope; overshadowing a whole new level of complete and other destruction of his own mental health. Which is probably why by the time it was 1am, he was still sitting in his office, two-thirds of the way through a bottle of scotch and completely drenched with emotional exhaustion. At this point in time he would probably be able to look out into House's office and see him bounce his bloody ball off the wall either easing the pain of his leg or figuring out what is killing his patient. Not today, today House's missing and he is drunk. He hadn't got this drunk in a long time. But it wasn't party hard drunk; it was depressed to the highest level drunk. So when Detective Harding called he was more or less unprepared to say the least.  
"Helllloooo," slurred Wilson.  
"Good morning Doctor Wilson, I'm sorry about the early call, but we have some news." Her voice was soothing and understated,  
"News, what neuwwsss?" More slurred speech tumbled out; he wasn't thinking even though the last week all he could think about was House.  
"We found him." The words were clear, his brain understood but didn't at the same time. And by the time he had processed it, he realised that he had thrown the bottle and his phone at the wall. One shattered on impact, the other emitted a low 'are you okay?' Wilson scrambled to find the phone, feeling slightly relieved of stress but unable to comprehend that what she said could be true. Now sticky from the alcohol, Wilson pushed the phone to his ear, as he struggled to find his keys.  
"Give me 2 pieces of information, where is he and is he alive?" Wilson knew he shouldn't drive, but he needed to see House now. "He is alive, and I'm picking you up. Kind of against regulations, but by the sounds of it you are in no shape to drive." Everything Wilson had thought could have happened didn't matter. He was alive. He stopped scrambling and collapsed back into his chair, it wasn't tears but a feeling of relief.  
"Ok."

* * *

 

Twenty minutes passed, before the detective showed up on his doorstep. He had had a shower, brushed his teeth, twice and downed a litre of water to sober up as quickly as possible. You could still smell the alcohol dripping from his pores but at least he didn't look an absolute wreck anymore. He got into her car, they spoke no words on the drive over. They didn't go to Princeton, they went to a neighbouring hospital, apparently at Houses request. Which sounded most odd, but he didn't make too much of it. After they had spoken to reception and been pointed in the right way. Harding pulled Wilson aside.  
"What are you doing?" He asked, perplexed at why she was pulling him aside, he needed to get to House now.  
"You need to be prepared, from what the report has said, his wounds are brutal. He is lucky to be alive. The only reason you’re getting in is because of the pure fact he may not survive the surgery. Brace yourself. You may not have expected it to be this bad." She let go of his arm, as he pulled away with a tut.  
"I may be an oncologist, but I did my trauma rotation, I'll be fine." Wilson pulled away and rounded the corner, stepping into the trauma room.

* * *

 

He stood there completely gobsmacked. The man he hadn't seen in a week, was way worse than he thought it would be. He now understood why House didn't want to go to Princeton, this wasn't something his colleagues should see. He had nothing but a pair of boxers on, no blanket nothing covering the extreme of what lay before him. Hundreds of cuts, some long stretching the likes of his legs and chest, others small but deep. Then there were burns, scrapes, stabs and blood. Lots of blood. It was graphic beyond belief. It looked like a murder scene. How he was alive, Wilson had no idea. Deep gouges lined his cheek bones, pieces of splintered wood embedded in his skin. His leg, where half the muscle was missing before, looked worse with large slashes like someone attacking some tyres. His eyes wondered to the face the man he had called his friend for so long. His nose was clearly broken, but it was his eyes that saw Wilson crumble. Bloodshot and fearful. There was one emotion House never showed and fear was one of them. He looked as though he had given up. And as they locked eyes, for less than a minute. Wilson's blood was boiling, boiling with more anger than he had ever felt before. He turned to leave, unable to make it through without passing out from grief. A voice croaked out of the dry cracked lips, a desperate, scared tone that he had never heard from the man before him, in two words that only made him crumble more, crumble into to the ground, with a low emotional cry.  
"Wilson, help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to Kudos if you enjoyed and any feedback is appreciated!


	9. Waking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How will House react when he wakes up...

One week, seven whole days, too many hours to count and a whole lot of waiting. Dr Wilson had been by House’s side for nearly the entire time. He had undergone three surgeries, had his left kidney removed and his spleen, and because of that was currently fighting off a bad set of infections. The multitude of skin lacerations meant there was no good spot for him to lie and his broken nose did not help for breathing. When Wilson was told about the five broken ribs, he could barely continue to listen, but what killed him was the sexual violence. From what the Doctor’s had told him he would mostly likely have a colostomy bag for the majority of the next few months due to the amount of internal damage done to the anal canal.

James had been the only one to see House, though Cuddy and his team asked, he bluntly denied, knowing full aware House would probably kill himself if any of them saw him the way he currently was. However this meant daily updates were in order. He told them everything, everything except for the sexual violence. If Wilson couldn’t stomach it, there was no way Cuddy or anyone else would be able to.

Wilson pulled his head from his knees, there was way too much to think of. House may be back from the ‘dead’ as he would say, but it didn’t feel like it. He looked worse than death, worse than when he was shot by Moriarty years ago, worse than when he dosed himself to figure out who else was on the bus with him and way worse than he looked after overdosing on Vicodin. This was the absolute lowest Wilson had ever seen his closest friend.

It had been four days since, the third surgery. The doctors decided to put him in an induced coma, give his body time to heal without stress of mental conditions arising. Wilson heard a knock on the door; Detective Harding was standing outside looking glum. That was the only thing that was unsure, they had not managed to find the responsible party yet. Wilson withdrew himself from his chair, feeling pins and needles erupt in his knees and down the back of his calves. He pulled the sliding glass door opened and came face to face with the Detective.  
“Any news on the responsible party?” James asked bluntly.  
“Yes, we found him, just not in the way we expected.” Harding answered, still looking glum,  
“okay, have they accepted any of the blame, how do you know it is him?” James wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know this right now, but asked none the less.  
“Dr Wilson, ah James, the man in questions was called Darren Keyes,” she pulled herself up,  
“Was?”  
“James, we knew early this week who is responsible, but I wasn’t allowed to release any of the information until now. James, he killed himself. We found his body hanging from a timber beam in the basement where we think Dr House was abused. There was a note with the body and it confessed about everything. I’m sorry,” James stumbled backwards, gripping tightly on to the frame of the glass sliding door, so this is how it was; House gets to suffer for the rest of his life while this dickhead gets off scot-free. What kind of world lets that happen? There was a sudden increase in the intermittent beeps from House’s monitors, he was waking up.  
“I’ll leave you alone, I have more information but you need to be there for your friend. I’m truly sorry it couldn’t have been better news.” The Detective responded in a light tone while picking up a bag from the floor and leaving James to his thoughts.

He turned back to the room; there were multiple nurses and House’s main doctor in the room now. A tube was being extracted from his throat, and his eyes flickering awake. James walked swiftly back to into the room, sliding in next to House as the breathing tube was completely removed. House coughed loudly, each cough causing a moan in pain.  
“Dr House, I’m going to increase your morphine levels, should help with the pain.” Doctor Charles said while fiddling with some knobs.  House turned sharply to Wilson, his eyes less bloodshot, still fearful.  
“James, James arghhh… Darren, it was Darren Keyes. You rememmm-ber the cop an-an-and hi-his girlfriend. Hhe-he did this, you have to find him, he blames me for Sarahhhs death.” The words exploded over Wilson in a painful croaky tone, he could hear the pain in each word. House knew who his attacker was; he knew and had to live with it.  
“It’s okay, House listen to me, they have him, he’s dead. He isn’t going to hurt you, you are safe.” James had little to no idea what to say, what do you say to anyone who has been beaten the shit out of by a psycho. How do you comfort someone like that? ?as it possible?  
“James, no, no he can’t, he is coming back, he said so, he unchain-chained me and I-I s-snuck out, he i-s comin-ing back.” The distress in his voice was getting more and more apparent.  
“KILL MEEEEE!” The sudden yell took everyone in the room by surprise. House was getting stressed, his hands had started shaking and he was struggling hard against not only Wilson, but also the nurses, who were trying hard to stop him from ripping stitches out.  
“NO, NO, NO. HE CAN’T, HE IS COMING BACK.” House’s eyes were flushed with such a heightened level of fear, but within a few seconds of fighting the people who were trying to help, he suddenly stopped, looking directly into Wilson’s eyes.  
“James get out, GET OUT!!!” The sudden change, through Wilson, what did he mean?  
“House it’s okay, don’t be scared.” Wilson had no idea what to do.  
“IT’S MY FAULT, GET AWAY FROM ME!!!!” House’s words were harsh and angry, he had no idea what was happening.  
“It-t, it’s not-“ Wilson started, holding back tears.  
“Doctor Wilson, please leave the room. Give him time to recover,” Doctor Charles said softly, still holding House down, even though the struggling had ceased. As he slid open the glass door, he heard the final words of his friend before the morphine knocked him out.  
“Stay away, stay away, I’mm no gooood, I did thisss. It’ss  fault-dd.” Each word slurring as he passed out.

As soon as Wilson got out, he didn’t look back, he didn’t stop to go back in. He just ran, ran as fast as he could. He wanted to stay but he couldn’t, it hurt too much. As he ran all he could was a mixture of tears and complete heart-wrenching anger. Why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this chapter was originally thick with medical jargon, but I decided to cut it back, so you didn't find yourself googling what a appendectomy or gastro-bypass is. 
> 
> Any tips, comments or criticisms are accepted, hate is not.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	10. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House was rescued a month ago, but was he? Wilson's POV

It had been 3 weeks, 21 days of pure silence since James told House that Keyes killed himself. James had never heard his friend stay quiet for so long. He never thought he would miss the sound of his voice or the inexplicable tone of sarcasm that he coated every sentence with. Every moment since House was kidnapped James had blamed himself, his last words to him before he disappeared was 'to go fuck yourself', and in more ways then one, that actually happened. House was tortured, for five days. The police were trying to get House to talk, but he was saying nothing. He just lay in bed and rested. It's like he gave up on life. He had nightmares, he never screamed only twisted in pain and his glares traded from 'get away from me' to 'help'. James had no understanding of how to deal with him, he had tried to get in contact with psychs who specialised in the area of rape, torture and abuse. But no one seemed to get it. 

So James said nothing, went to work three times a week, watched over House and gave Cuddy and the team updates. A month after they had found him House had not moved, James was very much a live in nurse for his only best friend, but he knew he couldn't leave him. It was the quietest and scariest thing of his life watching the most brilliant and sarcastically driven man in his life be depleted to the likes of a frightened child, with the inability to control emotions. James didn't know how to cope. So as he sat on the couch -a keen ear out for his friend hoping that he would venture his way out of his room for once- he reflected. Reflected on the past month. 

The team were still solving cases, Foreman had taken over the team and were leading Thirteen and Taub, along with occasionally Chase and Cameron. They were working, asking for updates on House, but pretty much trying their hardest to continue as usual. They had tried to visit on one occasion, which had ended poorly, with House throwing up all over Taub's shoes. House hadn't spoke at all, he had just listened, well, James hoped he had listened. Cuddy showed up three times, the first two ending in similar fashions to Taub's shoes. The third time had promising hopes, with House sitting on his bed rather than lying and allowing her to sit on the end of the bed. Ever the unemotional, unattached person House was, the lack of touch and feeling scared him. To be perfectly honest he wanted more than anything to grab House around the stomach and spoon him, hold him close and stop the bad dreams. He felt ashamed that he couldn't care for his friend in the way that he knew even though hugs wasn't his thing. He just wanted to hold him and tell him that everything would be okay. Glass of brandy in hand he continued to think. Detective Harding had been over 6 times in the past few weeks, spending two hours each time in House's room talking at him rather then with him or so he thought, he was never allowed in the room. Each time she left looking stone cold and not telling him anything. He understood as well as he could. He understood the silence around it. Even though Keyes had killed himself, there was still an investigation that needed to be tied up and that started with the full account from House, which in no way he was sharing. 

James heard a door swing, but thought little of it. It had been creaking for at least a week now.   
"I don't understand why you are still here." It was a gravelled tone, it didn't sound like House, but it couldn't be anyone else. Wilson turned to look and just as the voice suggested there stood his best friend and partner in crime wearing a pair of pants leaning heavily on the wall, looking exhausted and confused. Wilson stood up quickly, approaching his friend fast noting the unsteadiness.   
"House what are you doing up? You should have called." Wilson wanted to help and as he reached forward to grab his friend he was slapped away.   
"I'll ask again." House took a deep breath. "Why are you still here?" The struggle in his eyes was pure, putting words together was a hard and James struggled to understand the question.   
"House, I'll always be here, why would you think otherwise?" Wilson regretted it as soon as he said it. That was one of the things the psychs told him. Don't deflect, answer anything he asks. But he didn't do that, he deflected and turned the question on him.  
"Why would I THINK OTHERWISE?!?" House's voice had increased in tempo, his breathing rate as well and James could see the cracks baring in his friend.   
"I KILLED AMBER!!! I KILLED KUTNER!!! I'VE KILLED PATIENTS!!!" House screamed, "I kill, that's who I am, I bring death and destruction to everyone I know. Get away James. I'm no good for anyone." House's voice had returned quickly to quiet in seconds.   
"You need to leave James."   
"No, I will not leave." Wilson was firm. "You didn't kill Amber, flu pills and a bus killed her. The person who killed Kutners parents killed Kutner. You don't kill patients, you save them and yes occasionally some die. But you solve the hardest cases out there. You are not a bad man, House. An arsehole sometimes, but not a killer." Wilson was firm, he grabbed his friends wrist and went to pull him in tight.   
"Not true James, none of it. It's my fault." House had gone from calm to angry to quiet to crying in an entire minute. His head dropped and his body began to give way. James leaned forward and grabbed his friend and pulled him into a tight hug. Careful of any harm he could cause the still healing cuts.    
"Greg, you did nothing wrong, it's not your fault it's Keyes', you solved the case you helped. You did not cause this." James continued to hold and gently lower his friend to the floor. Listening to the sobs and cries of the man he held, James tried hard not to join him in tears. Holding him tight, James reflected, it was going to take a long time to heal this. A long time. But the only thing the mattered at the moment was that House felt safe.   
"Help me James."  
"I got you Greg."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to another chapter, hope you enjoyed sorry for the wait, I'm currently at university full time and haven't had the time. I really was to wind this story up soon, I hate the unfinished, so probably looking at a couple more chapters. 
> 
> Thanks for being patient, let me know what you think. Kudos and comments appreciated!!

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback would be recommended and thanks for reading.


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